


Death Knocked More Than Once

by BrownieFox



Series: Youtuber fics [2]
Category: Markiplier Egos, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, egos being young, lots o death, tw suicide, what is a heart beat, what is existance, what is life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownieFox/pseuds/BrownieFox
Summary: And handful of egos and the first time they died.





	Death Knocked More Than Once

Dark dies by his own hands.

He is so confused about his existence. He was created to be a strange being seen from the shadows, and in the shadows he wandered. He hid during the day and wandered during the night, trying to find out why he existed. When he got hungry he stole food, when he got tired he slept, but he was always exhausted. He never felt like he had enough energy.

He needed more.

It was a moonless night that Dark stood on the bridge, staring down at the water. The black goo trails down his face, falling the great distance down to the river as it rushed underneath.

He was so tired.

What was he supposed to do? This, what he was doing, this wasn’t living. It was hardly existing. It was constant pain and fear, never a moment where he felt he belonged anywhere.

He climbs over the rail.

A car horn honks behind as the person inside the vehicle shouts.

He goes down into the cold, rushing water that steal away his air and smack against his skin.

He wakes up on the river bank the next morning, soaking, shivering, and feeling no more sure of where to go in his life.

“Well hello there stranger, quite a handsome face you have there.”

* * *

The King of the Squirrel falls.

The cat had been stalking the squirrel up in the tree, careful footsteps along the branches. Now, perhaps, if KotS was somebody else, it would’ve been easy to save the squirrel. It would’ve just started to run away from anybody else. But if anything, KotS being up in the tree made the squirrel more content as the cat walked along the branch.

The King followed closely after the cat, crawling along. The cat looked back at him for a moment, and annoyed purr rumbling from it’s throat, but didn’t seem to think of him as much of a threat. 

Things usually didn’t.

The cat shifted it’s position on the wood, preparing to pounce, and the squirrel definitely wasn’t going to start running.

The King of the Squirrels leapt.

He managed to grab the cat, and the two of them fell to the park ground below. 

The cat managed to make his way out of KotS arms after they hit the ground, but the man didn’t get up for a while. Then again, a head being cracked open upon hitting the sidewalk would leave one out of commission.

* * *

Bim died to his own powers.

He was fresh to existence, and exited by it. Even after Hire My Ass had finished up, he stuck around the area as everybody went home. There was no guarantee that the show would exist in the morning, when whatever force created him wore off or whatever, but until then he had this studio to work in.

He was weak, he realized this. But one could become strong, right? So he decided, with his first day, he would practice. His ability only worked for such short bursts a time, a handful of seconds at best, but he liked. It was his. 

It was during this messing around that he elongated a beam. Stretched it out. And he was so into what he was doing, he wasn’t paying attention. He was so much everywhere with his powers that it was like he had forgotten where the tiny speck that was his form was. The beam plowed right through his stomach and Bim was snapped back to himself.

And then the beam reverted back to it’s original form, leaving his stomach with a sickening ‘shwunk’. 

He bled out on the floor.

And when he opened his eyes again, took in a fresh breath, he was somewhere else.

“Time of life: 3:23 in the morning. That makes likely six+ hours of death.” A familiar voice said in tandem to the scratching of a pen. He looked over to his right to find his own face staring back. The duplicate nodded to him, a small smile on his face. “I’m sorry, you died.”

* * *

The Author dies from at the hands of Dark.

The gun shot from Daniel was nearly the cause of death to begin with. 

He was left on the floor of his cabin, where he could only think. 

Why had he decided to get involved this time? Things had been fine when he’d stayed at the edge of people, out of view where he was safe to work as he wanted. 

He tried to say something, some words that perhaps could save him, but his attempts were met with only blood gurgling out of his mouth.

There was nothing The Author could do as feet padded to where he lay. A face, mirror to his, came into view as the person bent down. Black matter fell from the other’s face, landing on the wood floor with little taps. Darkness seemed to linger around his form, moving with each breath. He cocked his head to the side, and The Author would’ve repeated action if he had the strength.

“Would you like me to help you?” He asked in a voice too similar to his own. The Author wasn’t sure whether he did or not, but the other seemed to take his choking on his own blood as a affirmation.

The dark man grabbed The Author’s head and slammed it into the ground.

* * *

The first time Wilford died, it was to a gunshot.

It went right to his heart and was a rather quick death. In the future, there’d be time for long, drawn out deaths.

He could remember clearly thinking how strange, he had started existence in his twenties and cease existing before he left them. Funny, almost. 

And his heart stopped moving, the last breath left his lungs, and he was sent into oblivion.

Wilford was suspended in the limbo forever.

Then there was a weird shifting of something, distantly, moving from his chest outwards. 

Next came the uneasy prickling sensation where the bullet entered. It followed the same path, and if Wilford was capable of movement he would’ve wiggled and squirmed from the feel of it. 

And his heart, oh when it reached his heart it Burned. And he would’ve screamed if he could.

It was followed by a loud booming sound that shook his core, and Wilford stayed still, didn’t move, barely thought, hoping that it would go away. And it did.

The second time Wilford died, it was because he didn’t start breathing again.


End file.
